The Sin-Eater
by Ardyn
Summary: **ON HIATUS** Once upon a time, there was a Lucian King...ah, but that my story was such a fairy tale. Forgive me, dear reader, but my story will not be one of magic and charm. Well, perhaps charm, but aught else will be far more akin to tragedy. This is the story of how I, Ardyn Lucis Caelum, declared war against the gods.
1. Prologue

_AN: This is merely a short prologue for a story I am debating. I figured I'd post this first to test the waters and, if people like it, I will continue!_

* * *

 **-ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ-**

Once upon a time, there was a Lucian King.

...Ah, but that my story was such a fairy tale. Forgive me, dear reader, but my story will not be one of magic and charm. Well, perhaps _charm_ , but aught else will be far more akin to _tragedy_. I do hope that doesn't worry you, for I assure you I write this with a smile upon my face and a gladness in my heart.

For tragedies are surely the most _interesting_ of tales, and even tragedies have heroes. Of course, it is for you to decide who the hero of this tale is, but I beseech you to always remember; the world is not so black and white as one might think. On the surface, there are gods and there are humans, and surely the gods are great and good and powerful! —and humans are weak and lowly and must listen to the gods. So many of us follow that simple ideal and yet, strangely, many get rather irate when you describe it as I just have.

Humans aren't too _fond_ of painful truths, are they? Not to say the truth of that observation is that humans _are_ weak and the gods _are_ good. Merely, that we _agree_ with that without much question.

My name is Ardyn Lucis Caelum. And, once upon a time, I too believed wholeheartedly in the grace of the Astrals. Until I saw the truth, blinding and burning and _awful_...and declared **war** upon the gods. They say history is written by the victors, but you'll forgive me for being so bold as to record my tale prematurely, won't you?

Two thousand years ago, I reigned as King of Lucis. Now, I cannot say that title was one I felt awfully proud of; what is royalty, really? One man who found a land and happened to have a weapon at the time so that when he declared "I am the king!" no one said otherwise. Just a normal man, but with a little _fear_ in his hand. And there by the grace of his madness, a whole bloodline becomes lucky enough to call themselves kings and queens until someone _else_ with a sharper sword kills them and takes their place, granting _their_ family this lucky charm called _royalty_.

I would have rathered I was remembered as a _healer_ of Lucis than a king, but alas, I fear I shall be remembered as neither of those things. _Victors write history_ and such.

But I digress. Two thousand years ago, I reigned as King of Lucis, but alongside my lucky bloodline, I was also graced by the gods. In this world, there are two bloodlines interwoven and sworn to protect the light of Eos; the Kings of Lucis and the Oracles. The kings protects the Crystal for the good of the people and the prophecy it revolves around, that one day the Crystal will gain enough power from the Lucian kings to finally purge the Starscourge. The Oracle communes with the gods to support the king in his duty, and wields power enough to keep the darkness at bay, to heal those plagued with the Starscourge, until the Crystal is ready to fulfil its destiny when the final king rises. Without one, the other would fall, for the king cannot protect the Crystal nor add his strength to that of his ancestors' without the gods' blessings, which he cannot do on his own. Only the Oracle can open that connection with the gods, you see, and cure the afflicted. I suppose even a king can't have all the power...

...except, just once, nature saw fit to spit in the eye of the gods and do just that. The year of my birth, so I am told, there was quite a cause for concern. No Oracle had been chosen. The gods were supposed to choose an Oracle to coincide with the birth of the future king, but nothing had happened. Upon reflection, perhaps that ought to have been an omen enough of things to come.

On the day of my birth, one that was in equal measure joyous and _stressful_ for the worry of no Oracle, something rather bizarre occurred.

The future king was born...and so was the future king's Oracle...as one in the same person.

Yes, dear reader, perhaps the gods panicked and realised their error, or perhaps coincidences have a little fun on our behalf, but I was born as the King and an Oracle. _The Golden Eyed King_ was a legend many knew, of a Lucian King with all the powers of his bloodline _and_ the Oracle, but few believed it would ever truly come to pass. My arrival, as arrogant as it must sound, was deemed a great blessing of the gods, a king more powerful than any king before him.

Yes, there was no one alive, nor anyone since, more _chosen_ by the gods than I.

And yet, or perhaps _because_ of this, no man was ever bold enough to confront the gods until I...


	2. To Scream Or Smile

_AN: Some early readers may see that the first part of this chapter was originally in the Prologue; this was to test the waters and give folk an idea of the start of this fic. Now that I am resolved to continue, I have removed it from the Prologue (as the tense was a little different there as a preface to this) and extended it as a full, first chapter._

 _Reviews are encouraged and appreciated!_

* * *

 _Many eons ago..._

The sunlight glanced through leaves and branches so overgrown they near-weaved a perfect canopy overhead. One again, I had chosen to spend the majority of the afternoon lying upon to soft grass that blanketed the royal gardens, reddish-purple hair splayed out under me in a tangled mess I may one day hope to tame. I did so love it there; by my orders, they were not to be pruned or trimmed beyond absolute necessity. As a result, the area was _marvellously_ overgrown, a true art of nature. Vines tangled about themselves, branches struck out at all angles, blossoms and blooms of all varieties grew out of their once-segregated flowerbeds in scattered bursts of colour. Under the spring sunlight, it was truly a gorgeous place. Sadly, my advisor, Marcus, saw it as a living reflection of the state of my attitude towards rulership. On more than one occasion, I had caught him trying to _return some sense_ to the royal gardens.

My life was quite a pleasant one. My attitude towards being king was secondary to my pride in being a healer; I felt the latter was something I could _earn_ , something I could _work_ towards, rather than simply being _born_ into it. True, I had been born with the gifts of the Oracle, but it took many years to learn to wield that power well, to harness it and develop it to greater heights. I travelled, I met so _many_ of my people, the people I served where kings of old had been content to have their subjects serve _him._

By all accounts, I was quite a popular king.

...I also liked to remind my advisor of _this_ whenever he complained about my unintentional habit of forgetting meetings.

"Be that as it _may_ , Your Majesty," my advisor huffed, as he stood before me as a pinnacle of sensibility among the swirling, beautiful chaos of the royal gardens, "even _adored_ leaders must show their faces when the Council calls."

I pulled a face, rearranging myself more comfortably upon the lawn I lifted a hand to dismiss his concerns. You understand, of course, I am not a lazy man. I merely do not understand the need to _panic_ at the beck of others. A problem will be as a problem will be, regardless of if you choose to scream at it or smile.

"I trust you had it all under control, Marcus, and I trust nothing of value was truly said. Very little ever is at those sorts of meetings...it's all bluster and charm, really." I noted, closing my eyes and lying back once more, "If I was needed, it would have been woefully apparent."

"Sire, you _were_ needed. There's been more sightings. At night."

I could hear the fear in his voice even before the magic in my blood prickled to life. I cracked one eye open, not out of disrespect but merely wishing to remain the calmer one of the two of us. Marcus was a great show of collectedness, but he was still a young man; barely over twenty years old, he carried himself with the ramrod graces of a man who had been _told_ that one must exude the respect one expected to receive. Black hair was slick back far too tidily, framing a pale face and green eyes. He was a _slight_ man, with all the appearances of one who looked like a strong enough breeze would knock him over. It was jarring to his appearance then, that a great long scar dragged across his right cheekbone diagonally towards his upper lip, splitting his cupid's bow and marring the rose-coloured flesh of his mouth. A warrior's mark upon a decidedly un-warrior-like man, Marcus came from a whole bloodline of advisors to the royal family. Sadly, each generation felt a greater pressure than the last to be the _utmost_ they could be to support their king. I did try to allude to poor Marcus that he was doing a fine job, and need not pressure himself so, but looking back, I suppose this self-applied pressure was what made him so well-informed at his job.

"Daemons?" I asked, calmness holding my voice in order to keep Marcus grounded. The word was enough to spark fits of terror in even the most steadfast man, and rightly so. Many years ago, the Starscourge blighted the world, though the Crystal and its light kept the worst of it at bay...until recently. You see, the Crystal's purpose was to protect mankind from the Starscourge, with the aid of the king and Oracle. Alas, such harmony was not meant to last, and before long, the Crystal was deemed more a source of power than protection. More and more of its energy was being siphoned away to power weapons, shields, cities, meaning less and less of it could be used for its true purpose, holding the darkness at bay.

The sight of more daemons as a result _frightened_ people...but not enough to give up the luxuries afforded to them by using the Crystal's power for other things. No no, that was up to the _king_ to sort out. And resolve it we did, for it was the curse and duty of the royal bloodline to bear the Ring of the Lucii, an artefact bound to the Crystal as much as to the Lucian kings. Our powers threaded through the ring, but it also leeched our very lifeforces. Upon death, our souls would be claimed by the ring, and the power stored away unto the Crystal until enough was siphoned away to finally purge the darkness. It was the hope of humanity, _waiting_ for the day the True King would rise and wield this stored power of generations gone, and finally give the last of the necessary power the Crystal needed to defeat the Starscourge.

It was no secret that the people hope that I, with my already unusual birthright, would be that king.

"Y-Yes...even so far as Tenebrae..."

I closed my eye again at Marcus' report, but a frown pulled across my brow nonetheless. _That_ was odd. Tenebrae was usually offered the _particular_ grace of the gods as being the land of the Oracles. Of course, my generation had forgone that little tradition, but I didn't think the gods would forsake the land for such a formality. My mother's homeland was one of light beyond any other point in the world...it was troublesome to think that daemons were getting so bold as to walk there.

I sighed, pulling myself up to a seated position, and looked up at Marcus, my arms resting on my knees.

I offered him a smile, one that seemed to irritate him. I assure you it was genuine, dear reader, but he never did seem to believe me.

"Then perhaps my time would be better spent not at this meeting talking _of_ Tenebrae, but travelling _to_ our dear blighted land." I noted, standing up and brushing grass from my legs, "I trust you can make the arrangements?"

Marcus despaired, a thinly-veiled attempt at masking his concern failing to hide his true emotion from my eyes.

"Your Majesty, should we not gather more—"

"More what, Marcus? Rumours? Gossip? Fear-mongering?" I asked lightly, with no malice crossing my tone. I began to walk by him, my ever-present smile still gracing my lips. Forgive me repeating myself, but it is one of the few beliefs I held in those naive days of my past that I still hold today; a problem will be a problem whether you scream at it or smile. And smiling is so much _easier_. "I would rather see for myself how Tenebrae fairs, and if daemons are becoming an increasing issue, I can resolve it before it develops further. Another meeting may cost another life, you know. Maybe even my own. From _boredom_."

I turned on my heel at the foot of the gardens, beckoning Marcus to follow. "Come! I would not wish to leave without you! Who else would look upon my actions with such disdain?"

Marcus rolled his eyes, jaw clenched and twitching, but he followed nonetheless. I like to think the shivering-tense muscle in his jaw was fighting off a laugh or smile, but perhaps I am deluding myself of that.

"I can name a few people who may, Your Majesty." He offered wickedly, though I _know_ I saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his face. "Izunia for one...I trust she will be coming with us?"

As Marcus met my pace, I continued to walk from the gardens back inside the castle, bare feet sticking to the cold stone floors a little as I walked and sending an aching chill up my ankles. I loathed the cold, and wanted nothing more than to be back out in the garden under the sun, for the stone walls of the castle never did seem to warm even under the comforting beams of sunlight.

"I imagine if I tried to slip away, she'd somehow end up on the train regardless." I mused aloud, amber eyes flicking up in thought. Izunia was the name of the captain of my Kingsguard, though I fear _captain_ is still not quite title enough to describe the fiery woman. As merciless with a blade as she was with her words, Izunia did not suffer fools and, alas, she did not suffer _me_ and my flights of fancy. Such an unplanned, sudden trip to Tenebrae without even a small discussion would likely send her scowling face to my eyesight soon, and it was something of a shared exasperation between herself and Marcus whenever I decided on such a whim to trot off like this.

Actions speak louder than words, dear reader, and I remain resolute that most of the time, I was correct to simply act and get everything _moving_.

"What train to _where?_ "

A sharp voice cut through the air and nailed both myself and Marcus to the spot. Turning, and wondering if the devil himself would be so quick to answer my call, I saw none other than Izunia approaching.

A tall woman, broad of shoulder and muscular, she bore little grace expected and more power wrongly _unexpected_. Her fair hair was cut short around her ears, framing a pale face and grey-blue eyes that would ignite with the freezing fury of a blizzard when provoked. It was one of the rare instances where Izunia was without her armour, donning instead a simple plain garb of a black shirt and trousers neatly pressed. Somewhat dismayed, her eyes trailed down my form to look at my bare feet.

"Sire, you _know_ we have the Council present today...would it be too much to ask for you to wear shoes?"

I shrugged, a smile to ward off even the coldest of attitudes protecting me from any harm of her words.

"If the Council is so easily offended, then I need a new Council!" I grinned, wiggling my toes to tease her. She saw the movement and snapped her head up, scowling at me as though I had offered some grave insult. Finally, my smile gave way to a sad grimace. "Oh come now, Izunia. I swear I shall wear the _finest_ footwear on our journey to Tenebrae."

"Tenebrae? That's whe—" Izunia's voice trailed off as she pinned Marcus with her glare. "You didn't try to talk him out of this?"

Marcus stood his ground, though he closed his eyes and allowed a sigh to escape his nostrils. A hand reached up to massage the bridge of his nose, and I could imagine a hundred ways of addressing Izunia's accusation processing through his quick mind.

"Alas, when one mentions _daemons_ , that usually _does_ talk people out of anything. Sadly, His Majesty has the _opposite_ reaction and seems to take it as a challenge."

I truly suffered as a king, dear reader.

Despairingly, I offered an open-palmed gesture of goodwill to each of them. I knew that neither of them were implying I merely sit around and wait for the Starscourge to blight us all, but it was somewhat frustrating nonetheless. Do too much, and one was considered thoughtless and rash. Too little, and one was deemed a coward of a king. Sometimes, I wondered if they considered my actions in terms of an Oracle rather than a king, they might be more receptacle to my plans. To that end, that was the tactic I chose to inhabit my words.

" _His Majesty_ is also a _healer_ , if you recall. It may be my duty as king to sit and talk, but it is my duty as Oracle to go and _help_. What good is an Oracle if he does not heal the people, hmm?" I asked them both. An exchanged glance, a softening expression, and no word of retort told me that I had struck a chord of acceptance in the pair. The knowledge brought a fox-like grin across my face once more, and I clapped my hands together and straightened up again. "Excellent! Well, now that we are agreed that we travel for the duties of the Oracle over the king, shall we?" I turned and angled my hand towards the castle doors and began to pad over to the gates.

" _Shoes_ , Your Majesty..."

My own pointed finger clicked to the right of me and I turned my path sharply away from the door to follow it.

" _Shoes_ , Izunia!" I replied, turning to look over my shoulder with mock-insult reflecting in my eyes. "You were supposed to remind me!"

* * *

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I was hunched over pulling on a pair of boots when I became aware of a pressure dipping the bed a little beside me. I glanced across to see the form of Izunia sitting next to me, eyes tilted up to the ceiling.

"Sire..." From her voice, I could already tell her usual mask of seriousness had fallen away to expose a true _sadness_ in her soul. It too discarded my own mask of casual carefree smiling, and I sat back a little to regard her with my undivided attention. I needed not speak, for she continued, "...The Starscourge is getting worse...not better."

The looming shadow over us all, and indeed, a truth many saw fit to bury. Though the official word was the Starscourge was retreating, fearful of the King and Oracle born in one man, _surely_ a sign of the True King Cometh, in truth, the parasite seemed to have risen to the challenge offered by the gods and doubled its efforts.

The number of dead, many of whom were missing and merely presumed dead, rose by the day.

The rumour regarding _that_ trend chilled even my own bones to the core.

"Everything gets worse before it gets better." I offered, though the words sounded lame even to my own ears. Still, I clapped a reassuring hand on Izunia's shoulder, a true smile laid at her eyes should she need strength of it. "Besides, you have been away from the battlefield a while. Perhaps the daemons are forgetting who to fear."

Izunia was betrayed by a smirk that brought a little mirth and fire back into her eyes, and she tilted her head back in mock-arrogance.

"Well, who do we have to blame for that? A king who seems awfully fond of keeping me close in the castle rather than out in battle against daemons!"

My jaw dropped, my hand flourished over my heart, and I looked away as though her words shocked me.

"My _dear_ Izunia! Whatever do you _mean?_ You shouldn't say such things..." I got to my feet then, and offered her my hand with a grin. "People may _talk_..."

She duly ignored my hand, as I expected she would, and stood on her own. It was not an action meant to offend or portray as rude, nor did I receive it that way; I folded my hand back with a grandiose curl, straightening up to meet her with my hands clasped behind my back. Though she was indeed tall for a woman, I was still a good head taller, and she looked up at me as much as I looked down my nose playfully at her, my smile ruining any attempt to seem regal before her.

"People _do_ talk." She pointed out, jabbing a finger into my chest, "You have _no_ poker face, Ardyn."

"First name terms? People _will_ talk." I cooed, starting to walk to the door. A jest, of course, for Izunia and I had known each other for far too many years to stand on ceremony too much. She all but _waltzed_ past me to the offered open door, leaving me to slink out of the door after her as though I were following the True Queen. I sometimes wonder to this day if perhaps I was. Bloodline surely counted for little other than the gods' strange prerequisite, and if they had had an ounce of sense or mercy among them, the gods would have seen Izunia's spirit alone could have snuffed out the Starscourge in an instant.

...I suppose that is why they deigned to allow what happened to happen. Some bitter punishment, perhaps. Or some stark warning. Sometimes, the two signs seem without difference in my eyes.

Sufficiently suited and booted (for Izunia had gone to don her azure armour and equip her blades in my rather lengthy ordeal of finding _shoes_...) we met once more with Marcus, who was long-since prepared to leave. The raven-haired man wore merely his usual suit, an overjacket against the coming evening chill. A small suitcase rested at his feet, and he was leaning in the doorframe with his eyes cast outside in watch, the setting sun casting burnt hues over his face.

"Perhaps we ought to wait until morning." He said by way of greeting, though I could tell from his tone he knew my answer.

"The sooner we get to Tenebrae, the sooner I can see the true extent of the daemons' bold advance." I held a hand out to Izunia, and she begrudgingly handed her weapon to me; a set of cruel blades fixed in metal gauntlets, metal claws befitting a tigress were the captain's weapon of choice. I flashed a toothy grin at her, before allowing the weapon to fold into my magic and disappear, stored safely away with my other summonable weapons that graced the bloodline of the Lucii. She, along with Marcus, would be able to retrieve them at will, and it presented less danger of having our weapons stolen or disarmed before the fight even began if they were housed away with my magic.

"Well...shall we?" I asked, finally making it to the door without interruption. A flick of my wrist brought my hat glimmering from thin air and into my hand and, with a small flourish, I donned it and headed out into the evening sun.


	3. Curiosity

_AN: Now that I have finished my other FFXV, A Blessing Reborn, I should be able to update this one more frequently._

 _As always, thank you for the reviews, and know that I read and appreciate every single piece of feedback I am given._

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I rather loathe travel by rail, it must be said. There's just something far more _enjoyable_ when one is pursuing a journey by foot, or by car, but when one is bound to a track, half of the enjoyment simply whirls past the window at breakneck speed. It wasn't uncommon then for me to start pacing through the carriages, an act that often brought Marcus to despair; I remember one such occasion fondly, during a trip to Niflheim, when one of our fellow passengers deemed it prudent to challenge the king to a duel for the crown.

Now, _I_ had wanted to accept the man's offer, for what king should not fight for his people and his throne? He has simply been handed it on a plate, the least he can do is _fight_ for it when the time called for it, surely? Alas, Marcus did not see it in such a manner, and point-blank refused to allow me to fight the duel. Something about _turning the carriage into a tube of unprecedented flame and lightning_ being poor for publicity. Despite my valiant efforts to point out that I had no intention of using elemancy for the battle, he had still gained the upper hand in talking the challenger down.

Alas.

So perhaps it was not greatly surprising then that the black-haired man nearly jumped out of his skin when I rose to my feet, bored already of our journey. Hastily, he got to his feet too, green eyes a little wider than usual and scanning my face for any hint as to my intentions. I offered him, as always, a smile, but that seemed only to set the man further on edge. I had hoped that one day, my advisor would come to enjoy my smiles, and not treat them with the same manner one might if a dragon had bared its teeth...

"Y-Your Majesty," Marcus' usually smooth voice stammered and betrayed him momentarily before he collected himself, "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, I shouldn't think so." I replied politely, shuffling a little to escape the confines of our seats and stepping out into the aisle. "Merely a need to stretch the legs and such. I shan't be long."

Despite this, Marcus made to move, stopping only when I raised my hand and shook my head. "I do not require escorting. I assure you, I shall deny any and all challenges to the throne."

The withering glance served back to me was surely a trait honed to perfection and passed down through the Scientia family for a century or several. It was nearly enough to make me turn on my heel and sit back down in my seat, head bowed. Coupled with a folding of the arms, Marcus regarded me for a moment, looking for any signs of dishonesty I suppose. He opened his mouth to speak, but Izunia piped up from where she was sitting, slouched against the window, eyes closed and for all the world apparently asleep save for her moving lips.

"Let him go, Marcus. I'm not dealing with a bored and restless king wriggling in his seat for the next three hours..."

Marcus' head snapped to Izunia, then back to me.

I offered him another smile, and once again, it was accepted with all the gratitude of a poisoned apple. The smile dropped to a frown, as you see, dear reader, I am a _sensitive_ sort.

"Come now, Marcus...one day you'll _have_ to smile back." I complained, folding my own arms in a mirror of his stance. This earned a _half-_ smile at least, and a look away. Small steps of success!

"I suppose the worst-case scenario is you lose your crown and I end up advising someone with a finer attention span." He relinquished, sitting back down and shrugging. I scowled at the pair of them, though no malice drew from my heart.

"I think the pair of you are the _only_ ones in the land who don't treat me like a king."

"Probably why you like us." Izunia muttered, her eyes still closed, "You hate being treated like a king."

I conceded with a half-nod she likely couldn't see but almost certainly sensed, before starting to move away with a flippant wave over my shoulder. Her words were quite true, of course, I took little joy in being pandered to. As mentioned, I far preferred my duties as Oracle over that of King, and it was for this reason that I was keen to head to Tenebrae at all. If the rumours of increased daemon activity were true, it would call for an Oracle's aid. Whereas, back in Insomnia, the constant _meetings_ about said daemon activity would call for a King's _ears_ and nothing else.

Of course, I was not blind to my status; as I walked through the carriages, it was made acutely apparent to me at all sides. People looking up, gawking, looking away again, whispering to their neighbour (" _I-is that the...the king?!")_ gestured that did little to earn my gaze or attention. It was by chance, then, that something caught my eye and I paused – on a small table before the seats on my right, there was a small pile of well-thumbed papers, sporting a criss-cross of fold marks and smudged inks. No one was nearby, and I found my curiosity prickled enough for me to tilt my head to try and read the writing:

 ** _Sickness, irritability, sleepless. Disappeared a week later – linked?  
Furthest she could be on foot: Fandrel Caverns. Iron mine in the south(?) Unless she  
headed north t_**

The rest of the writing was covered by the paper that lay over the top of it and, idly, I reached out to shift it to continue to read when a hand darted out and snatched the papers away from the table. Alarm jolted my attention back to the present and I looked up to find a pair of chestnut-brown eyes _burning_ into my own, a rightful anger and annoyance spreading over a woman's face.

"Can I _help_ you?" She snapped, sitting down in her seat and keeping the papers hidden away now in her arms. Oh, I could _feel_ the embarrassment prickling across my face, how rude of me to have read someone's notes. A hand came up to brush the hair away from my face, a nervous habit that seldom raised its head but one I possessed all the same.

"Ah...my apologies, madam. I'm afraid when they coined the phrase _curiosity killed the cat_ , they were originally referring to myself. I had them change it from _king_ to _cat_ by royal decree, don't you know." The light-hearted lie was intended to diffuse the situation, but it seemed to do little to settle the woman's face. She regarded me for a moment, before looking sullenly away, as though disappointed.

"Fine. Aren't you... _royally_ busy somewhere else?" She asked, eyes now directed out the window to her right. I realised she was dismissing me, and looked a little affronted. Eyebrows arched, and despite her words, I remained where I was. Judging from the red-haired woman's attire, she was not from Tenebrae, her thick, black jacket ill-suited to the warmer climate to come. She was travelling light, a small bag stored above her over-packed but still far under-equipped compared to the experienced traveller. A sudden outing, then...

"Tenebrae, yes. And what brings you to venture so far?" I offered the conversation politely, though I fear it was not well-received for she responded curtly:

"Prying again?"

Evidently, I was not forgiven. A small pout tugged at my bottom lip, and I shifted my weight onto my other foot as I mused on what to do. I could just walk away, but that sat rather _ill_ with me. Clearly, this woman was searching for something, and something that was not a planned excursion. And clearly, she appreciated _dancing around the subject_ about as much as I did. Therefore, I shrugged, sighed, and donned a smile as I asked directly:

"Offering _help_. I shan't deny I spied your papers a little there, and I do apologise for that. Who, or what, are you searching for? Four pairs of eyes are better than one when it comes to searching."

This brought her attention back to me, and a frown creased her face. Still, at least she was looking in my direction now. Perhaps, I thought to myself, forgiveness may yet be earned. Perhaps, gods willing, my smile would look friendlier to her than in ever bloody did to Marcus. Maybe that thought crossed my mind and caused a strange expression, for she suddenly gave a small chuckle.

"You're telling me you're _royalty_ and you're offering to help a random woman on a train? You don't even know my _name_..."

"What kind of king would I be if I didn't help the people in my kingdom?" I rebuked with a smirk. She threw back her head and _laughed_ at this, a tearing and barking sound that did not fit what one would call _ladylike_ at all. Perhaps that was why the smile remained on my face despite being laughed at. I was growing to appreciate this woman more and more by the minute. And here Marcus had told me wandering off through the train was a terrible idea. I ought to hire a new advisor.

" _King_? Not just any old royalty, but _king_? Seriously?" She looked at me with an arched brow, clear disbelief echoing from her expression. I said nothing, but continued to smile...and watched as she looked around the train at the strange silence, the bowed heads looking away from the situation. She then suddenly bent forward, bringing her forehead down to touch against the table in front of her. " _Oh my gods_...you **are** the bloody king..."

"If it eases your mind any, I hardly look the part."

She sat back up at this, looking _furious_ at me once more, enough for me to recoil back a little.

"You're the king and you don't even get your _hair trimmed?_ How was I supposed to know you're the king when you look like a food shop vendor?! _"_ She demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at my rather unkempt mop of red-violet locks. This earned a raised eyebrow from myself; was that _truly_ her most prominent observation on my rather lacking appearance as royalty?

Gods help her, she was wandering off out on her own...

* * *

"We are getting off at the next stop!"

My voice carried through the carriage and startled Izunia awake with a light snort, and brought Marcus' eyes up from whatever he was reading. No doubt a travel guide for Tenebrae, despite my being very familiar with the area, Marcus always liked to keep up to date with every journey we took, and I did not begrudge him this. His preparations often saved our hides on many an occasion. A light frown creased his brow and he looked out of the window, then back to me, in one fluid motion.

"Surely not so soon? Tenebrae is at least another eight stops..."

As if to explain myself perfectly, I gestured an open palm towards the woman who now accompanied me. She had decided to stand with her arms tightly folded, looking out of the window, as she seemed apt to do when put under the spotlight, I observed. Realising she was not about to introduce herself, I stepped in once more and offered a more fitting explanation grafted from the little she had deigned to tell me.

"This is Tristitia. It appears she has lost someone of import, and thus, we are going to help find her." With that, I sat back down in my seat, deciding to ignore the confused frowns that graced my companions' faces. Oh, I did not doubt they objected to offering aid to those in need, for the pair of them had more heart than even I did at that time...but their concern for safety was always at the forefront of their minds. Izunia did not greet Tristitia, but I knew she was already sizing the other woman for any hint of concealed weapons, where Marcus would be doing the same for any hidden _agendas._ One sought the assassin, one sought the spy.

Marcus offered a seat to Tristitia graciously enough, standing and pointing to his now-vacant seat and stepping aside. Though the woman started and shook her head, at his instance, she sat rigidly down.

"I...I didn't ask...he just sort of..."

"We know." Izunia cut her off easily, a lazy glance dragging back to the window. "Sorry about our wayward king here. He's a bleeding heart and a bleeding _headache."_

Another pout was pulled from my lower lip at Izunia's scornful words, though I did not truly believe she meant them, it was still rather embarrassing to have my own guards address me as such in front of guests. I gave a dramatic sigh of defeat, and a mock-sorrowful look to Tristitia.

"Alas, I fear you two shall get along all too well." I groaned, looking to Marcus for support. "What must a king do to earn the respect of his own guard?"

"Act like one?" Marcus offered lightly around a smile, one hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"Touché." I conceded, settling back in my seat once more and letting my head lean back against the chair. For all of her boldness in words, Tristitia did not reflect it in her mannerisms; dragged away from the comfort of her solitude, she sat right on the edge of her seat, as if waiting for a chance to run. A slight twist of my heart called to the foreground that perhaps in my effort to apologise for being so nosey, I had inadvertedly made another rude gesture in my arrogance. I was about to offer that she might continue her quest alone if she truly wished to, when she spoke again. Her head bowed, a lock of red hair tumbling out from behind her ear, and it occurred to me she was feigning some sort of bow of politeness. It didn't suit her at all.

"Thank you...I've been searching for Laeta for nearly a week now. Perhaps...perhaps a fresh set of eyes is exactly what is needed."

"So my curiosity was not wholly unfortunate then!" I beamed, and I _felt_ Marcus bristle. He came to stand by my seat, and I reflexively shifted to an expression of courteous reprimand in advance of his predicted scolding. "...Oh Marcus, you _really_ ought to invest in a good handbag if you're going to insist on acting like my mother."

"I haven't said anything yet, Your Majesty."

"But you're _going to_."

"Absolutely. Firstly, your mother never _carried_ a handbag..."

"Probably why she was forever misplacing things." I mused aloud, happy to latch on to any excuse to steer the conversation away from an inevitable telling-off. It wasn't that I much feared Marcus' scolding, and I loved the man dearly, but his would hold onto a lesson such as this and _drag_ it out for _days_ on end. It was a lecture I would rather avoid, and so dear reader – I did. Clapping my hands together (perhaps to eclipse whatever Marcus was about to say that no doubt started with _"And secondly-!")_ I leaned forwarded and rested my arms against my knees, fixing Tristitia with what I hoped was a friendly face. "Tell us more about...Laeta, was it?"

This, sadly, brought Izunia's disdain in my direction. I was having a poor day in terms of my haphazard Kingsguard, it seemed.

" _You_ don't even know who she is looking for?"

"I was rather caught out for being _too_ prying, therefore, I didn't ask."

Tristitia seemed to have warmed to me a little, or perhaps sought some comfort in knowing now that I was the king of this land, for she rescued me from a second scolding by answering swiftly.

"She...she's my wife. A few weeks ago, she started to get sick. Nothing too worrying, just feeling tired, not eating much...but..." The red haired woman looked down at her feet then, and the mood around us grew heavy under a sombre cloud wrought by her words, "...then she couldn't sleep even though she was tired. She couldn't eat, even though she was hungry. Her...whole attitude started to change. I guess in frustration...we went to doctors, healers, but no one really knew what was going on. They said overwork, or sunstroke, everyone had a different answer. A different excuse.

"Then, I came home one day and she was just gone. No note, nothing. I figured maybe she started to feel better, went for a walk or something...couple of hours later it got dark and, y'know, with the daemons I figured she'd come back soon. She didn't."

My eyes narrowed a little as I digested her tale. Lack of sleep but hounded by exhaustion...vomiting but devoured by hunger. I'd heard these symptoms before, many times, and cured many such afflicted.

"Starscourge..." Izunia gave name to the ailment, her storm-clad eyes turning to meet my own in understanding. "She's been infected with the darkness. But to disappear into the night like that? A Scourger shouldn't have the strength to walk after a week, let alone go on escapades like that."

I felt my lips harden in a thin line, for I disliked the term _Scourger_ used to describe those infected with the Starscourge. It rather brought to mind some form of affiliation, that the victim was in some way _part_ of the darkness they were being hounded by. I'd met enough people at that point to know the truth of the matter, or so I thought at the time. But I digress...

Tristitia did not seem alarmed by our diagnosis, but sorrow flooded her eyes all the same, a sorrow that could not be hidden by a downturned glance. Her shoulders hunched, as if by stiffening she could bear the weight of this harrowing knowledge easier. Marcus' hand came down onto said shoulder, offering a light gesture of support without overbearing her.

"We will find her. And when we do, the king can save her. He's healed many afflicted in the past. The gods have steered your path in the right direction." He assured her, sentiment colouring his usually professional tone with a warmth that suited him. A pity he did not allow himself to seem as such more often, for the woman blinked back tears and lifted her head finally to offer a sad smile.

"Th-Thank you..."

* * *

"Any...particular reason you figure she might be here?"

The four of us were standing out in the pouring rain before the gaping maw of a cavern. The ground under our feet was barely solid, a soggy mush of swamped mud. I lifted the rim of my ruined hat with misery in my eyes, and it slipped from between my finds and flopped back down, splashing rain into my face, much to Marcus' veiled amusement. I shot him a withering look, though he seemed rather immune to it, as he flicked the sad, drooping rim of my hat once more with one long, outstretch finger, bringing a few more droplet of water back onto my face.

Tristitia had the good sense to walk into the entrance of the cave and the shelter it provided from the rain, arms huddled against her torso. I'd doffed my overcoat and given it to her as some shield from the rain, but seemed to have succeeded in making the poor woman look like a drowned rat in an oversized coat.

"She...she mentioned it. In her sleep. Sort of...muttered it. It might be nothing but...I'm running out of options." She turned to look down into the dark gloom of the cave, and I stepped forward, one to save myself from the abysmal weather, and two, to observe the darkness radiating from the cavern. She wasn't wrong to suspect this place, I realised quickly, the powers of the Oracle burning under my skin in response to the Scourge that radiated like a pulse from the heart of the cavern. It may or may not have been Laeta, but there was certainly _something_ worth of note. I absent-mindedly removed my hat and began to wring it out between my hands, rainwater draining from it and splashing to the ground at my feet.

"It certainly houses daemons..." I decided there was seldom any use in lying to Tristitia now, for it would surely become apparent as we entered that the place was a hive for the creatures, "If your wife has wandered here—"

"She would have been killed." Her own bluntness crippled her, for I could see despite the unwavering tone, Tristitia's eyes _shook_ with fear as they poised, resolute, into the cave before us. "...But I won't leave her here. She doesn't deserve to rest among daemons."

"Agreed. No one does." Izunia nodded, twisting her wrists in a flourish and summoning her claw gauntlets from me with ease. "We'll find her, Tristitia. You have my word."

Marcus merely nodded, copying Izunia's gesture and summoning his own weapon to hand – a pair of tonfa that rested the length of his forearm, and bore a cruel blade that sprouted near his wrist opposite the handles of the weapon he held firm. My attention drew then to Tristitia.

"Can you fight?" I asked simply. She nodded, and rummaged in the backpack she'd brought with her for a moment, before producing a small firearm.

"Well enough." She replied, loading the weapon with ease of second nature. Appeased that she was ready at least to _fight_ if not truly to confront the true horror that may await us, we delved into the cavern.

The darkness wrought little of interest, for when one has seen one cave, one has rather seen them all. Dripping walls, a cold chill that seemed to radiate from the walls, a murky light that was quickly banished by the small, but powerful lights we each had clipped to the lapels of our clothes. Smaller, lesser daemons scurried away from the sensed light of the Oracle and King, where other, bolder creatures readied and lunged to fight.

They fell with ease, Izunia and Marcus having fought far greater creatures in their years of service, and I having been _born_ to bring quarrel to the creatures of the Starscourge. It was such a _dance_ that we were used to, so second-nature, I very nearly missed Tristitia's cry of _"Stop!"_

Twisting awkwardly in the air, I landed off-centre from my intended sword-strike against a larger daemon; a slight creature, awfully thin as though its mass had been dragged too much to make for its towering stature, long arms nearly dragged across the floor ending in a single, terrible claw in the place of hands. I quickly rolled away from its no-doubt counter in response to my interrupted attack, but noted with surprise that the creature twisted its gaunt half-formed head to look at the voice that had sounded. One, red eye that nearly engulfed the daemon's whole face was directed entirely at Tristitia. Without missing a beat, Marcus dutifully stepped between them, tonfa raised to guard any attack, but Tristitia jolted forward and placed a hand on Marcus' shoulder. The colour had drained from her face, her eyes wide and glassy as they fixated on the equally-oddly frozen daemon.

Slowly, her free hand rose, trembling, to point at the creature's neck. It was only then that I noted what adorned it; a thin, gold chain clashed against a rotting flesh, holding a single sapphire set in a clasp.

"L-Laeta's...that's...that's Laeta's..."

As if she were a vessel for Tristitia's scorn, the vengeful form of Izunia darted forward, claws poised to strike at the daemon she deemed to have not only killed but _looted_ the remains of Tristitia's fallen wife. Her face was set in battle, and it was boiling through her blood. And yet, the season's warrior was blocked by the daemon's clawed arm, though strangely, it did not attack her back. Instead, it recoiled away, _howling_ and bringing its arms up to cover its head...

 _It's ashamed to be seen..._ I realised, before horror grasped at my throat. A truth I had never considered, for I and the whole believed the daemons rose from the darkness, _born_ from the Starscourge, a separate species...and yet...what if...

The terror of it froze my skin, stilled my blood, and shattered everything I had ever been told. But...how? My knowledge, as Oracle, came from _the gods themselves_. I communed with them, a link between our worlds, and not _once_ had they deigned to tell me if daemons came from... _humans_. That those afflicted with the Starscourge were not destined to merely die from it, but be warped, twisted, into these harrowing creatures.

Those that disappeared...all thought to have been killed by daemons...perhaps they suffered a fate far worse...

 _We have been so blind. Following a path pointed out to us..._

Perhaps it was this surge of _anger_ at my own ignorance to the truth for so long, my own perceived _failure_ to those I was meant to protect, or a combination of everything that brought my hand up to summon the healing power of the Oracle to my hand. I could hear Izunia's confused voice through the howling rushing in my ears:

"What are you _doing?!_ You...You can't cure a _daemon_ , there's nothing _to_ cure! Your Majesty, step _away!_ It'll—"

I disregarded her warnings, stepping towards the cowering daemon with determination masking the fear I felt in my heart. Part of me wished to see the daemon ebb away, to find Tristitia's wife cured and happy...and yet, part of me _feared_ what it would mean if such a thing happened before our eyes. What truth would be shattered, was direction we had lost...what _faith_ in the gods meant to guide us, to know they had withheld such _potent_ information from us wilfully.

The creature howled and hissed, its mangled arms shielding itself from the light, and for a moment, I presumed the daemon might simply burn to dust under the magic. I debated lowering my hand...when I saw it. Thin tendrils of darkness, like hair caught in the wind, began winding from the daemon to lope and loop around the emitting light of my healing magic. A strange sight, for usually the healing rays burned _away_ the darkness, it didn't beckon it _forth_. And yet, my curiosity kept my hand in place, the healing light remained, even as the tendrils drew thicker and quicker, wrapping around the light and my hand, wrapping up to my wrist, and yet, the more they did, the more the daemon seemed to shrink before my eyes as though unravelled...

...and there, curled upon the floor, was the shivering form of a brown haired woman, very much alive.

 _I had cured a daemon..._ I realised in horror and _joy_ , for surely this meant I could end the—

My thoughts were short-lived, for the darkness from the daemon had been too potent, too _anchored_ to merely burn away under the healing light of the Oracle. It refused to be banished like the afflicted darkness I had burned away with such ease numerous times before, it refused to be destroyed. To heal a daemon, it seemed, I was to _transfer_ the darkness from that host unto myself instead. And yet, the darkness seemed to struggle to take root, for I did not morph into the horrible daemon Laeta had been condemned to become. Shielded by my birthright as the Oracle, it seemed I could not be transformed so easily as others, and instead...the darkness acquiesced to burrow within my skin and disappear from sight.

My eyes lingered where the darkness had been, where it had disappeared...for I could still _feel_ it, tangling at odds with the natural light magic that coursed within my veins. A strange numbness overwhelmed me, and I did not hear Tristitia run to her wife to scoop her from the floor, to comfort her reunited love, nor Izunia arrive at my side in concern. Neither image of warmth and compassion came to me, denied by the dark that now clawed through my body, desperate to find root within it.

Everything felt _murky_ and _slowed_ , as though my blood had been wrought in oil and water that twisted and _refused_ to settle among one another. I could feel the colour and warmth drain from my skin, felt the ache of my knees striking the floor before I even realised I had buckled. Numbly, I was aware of a hand on my shoulder, a sound that recalled my name, it sounded so far away...

Blearily, I looked across at the wavering sight of a person at my side, but for the life of me, I could not _see_ them...they were blotted, a silhouette of shimmering darkness in a backdrop of crimson, and I blinked slowly to try and clear my sight in vain. Then, all slowness and heaviness from my limbs _shattered_ suddenly, and I doubled over, arms wrapped around my torso as pain wracked my innards, my lungs, my _heart_ , gods the pain...at that moment, I truly thought I would never feel a pain to match it.

I was, dear reader, so _woefully_ wrong...

Lips wrenched apart and I vomited, black _murk_ pouring from my stomach and splattering on the cold ground before me. I wavered, weakened, _lost_ in this strange limbo of light and dark...before slumping to the side against whomever had tried to come to my aid, and I knew no more...


	4. Truth of the Matter

_**AN: Thank you for the reviews so far, they do keep me motivated. This chapter is a little shorter, but I needed to wrap up the event of the previous chapter before moving on. :)**_

* * *

I recall very little of the immediate hours after the first daemon writhed its way into my being. Flashes of memories at best, and you must understand, I am retelling my tale in a hindsight of _thousands_ of years. Many of those fragments have long since turned to dust...

I wrestled with a fitful sleep, of that I am certain. Nightmares unlike any I had experienced tore through my mind's eye, visions of fire and tendrils of darkness, rending all asunder. I believed then that it was a vision of the future, should the Starscourge be allowed to continue its rampant path...but now, of course, I know the truth.

Between the throes of fear and fever, my eyes cracked open to reality on a few, sparse occasions – glimpses of Izunia's concerned face, grey-blue eyes scouring my face in worry of what was happening no doubt; occasionally, it would be Marcus in my view, his emerald eyes far better at hiding their concern than Izunia, but a stiff lip and tightened jaw betraying his true concerns. Occasionally, I felt my hand go up weakly to grasp at a sleeve, a wrist, a hand, anything to reassure myself that _this was real_ and what I saw burning around me was nought but a nightmare. A pitiful attempt at grounding myself, and one that proved somewhat fruitless, for a spent the vast majority of the coming days with skin gleaming with fever, eyes either shut or glazed and blind to the reality of the world. I would come to learn later that all the while, dark threads of veins cut trickling lines along my arm and up across one side of my face, blossoming from the hand which I had wielded the light magic that pulled the daemon from the suffering woman and bound it to myself.

Blearily, and with tremendous effort, I managed to break my eyes open once again with something more akin to _strength._ My vision swam and slowly focused, showing me the fabric side of a tent. I blinked dully, as memories and understanding dragged their feet in returning to my mind.

 _...Tenebrae..._

I remembered my destination, and little else. Groggily, I pulled myself up to sit, blankets pooling around my waist and tangling around my legs. My whole makeshift bed was something of a _mess_ , remnants of my nightmare-fueled panics, no doubt. I decided not to dwell to much upon that, and slowly shuffled forward to make my way out of the tent and discover what was going on.

I made it no further than the entrance before the heel of a boot gently placed itself squarely in the centre of my chest. I looked down, still a little dazed from sleep, then realised _whose_ boot it was.

"Izunia, I ju—"

My words were cut off by a light nudge of her foot sending my weakened form back into the tent with all the grace of a three-legged Spiracorn. My descent was followed by the stooped form of Izunia, clad in her casual attire that usually hid under layers of armour. A plain, short tunic-style shirt wrapped around her torso, and black trousers as unembellished as her shirt, her short blonde hair was tussled from what I suspected was sleep. Had I awoken them? It occurred to me I had no idea what time of day or night it was, but it seemed odd to me that they had opted not to sleep inside the tent.

I rested back on my arms and regarded Izunia for a moment with a pout born of her soft _kick_.

"What in Ramuh's name did I do to deserve _that?_ " I complained, before flopping back onto my bed, arms splayed. "I'm _stricken_ with illness, and you _kick_ me..."

"Back into bed. Surely I am a cruel woman." Came Izunia's deadpan response, coming to sit cross-legged next to me and looking down at my crumpled form pitifully. "How are you feeling, Princess?"

I scowled up at her, before looking aside.

"... _Sluggish_...I can only presume I am about to be lectured on having done something foolish to cause said sluggishness?" I offered, helpfully, returning my gaze back to Izunia with a small smile. She rolled her eyes in response, apparently realising any plans for a lecture would fall on selectively deaf ears.

"In your defence...you saved a woman's life." She admitted, shifting to bring one knee up to her chest to cradle in her arms. "But Marcus is worried. He says the Oracle's powers aren't meant to be able to _do_ that. Or...well...maybe more accurately, no one knew they _needed_ to. No one knew—"

"—that daemons began as _humans_ , not simply crawling out of the darkness." I finished for her, all vestige of a smile now wiped from my face as I fixed the ceiling of the tent with a hardened look. It was a truth I recalled despite my fractured memories, and one that shook foundations across my mind. It was an accepted _fact_ that daemons were created of the darkness of the Starscourge...the gods, their Messengers, the Oracles before myself, all had bore the same message. Not one had deigned to enlighten us that the poison of the Starscourge upon a human was what created daemons.

It was little comfort to know then, that all the people I had thus far healed from being afflicted with the Starscourge had, in truth, been saved from a fate worse than death. But all the people I had not had chance to reach...all the daemons that prowled in the dark...were they truly all once people? People who had become stricken with the Scourge, people the Oracle had not been able to reach in time.

My brow creased. Why, then, if the gods knew this...was their only _one_ Oracle upon the world at any one time? It was too large a task for one person, surely...two explanations came to mind, and both rested uneasily.

I sat up again, shuffling my concerns to one side for the moment.

"All the more reason for us to reach Tenebrae with great haste. If daemon activity has increased there, it would be a perfect place for me to start."

Izunia looked at me, head snapping to face mind in a whipcrack of worry, though I could tell by her face she already knew the answer to her question.

"To start...what?"

"Turning daemons back into humans, of course. I can heal the afflicted, and now, I can heal those further gone. A far greater act fighting back the Starscourge, to actively _reduce_ the number of daemons among us, wouldn't you say?"

Oh, but the conflict that shattered across Izunia's expression; one the one hand, she couldn't argue with my logic. On the other...she _could_.

"Your Majesty, _please_. Consider this a little more! Curing those afflicted with Starscourge doesn't harm you...but you cured _one_ woman from her daemon form and slept for a _week_ in the throes of a fever and delusion! Curing numerous daemons could **kill** you, or worse! Marcus isn't even convinced you _did_ burn away the daemon as you would the Scourge from the afflicted."

My eyebrows raised a little at her outburst, though I drew no attention to the fact she had placed her hand on my arm.

"Goodness, you _must_ be concerned. I cannot recall the last time you called me _Your Majesty._ "

That brought Izunia back in her truest form, and she frowned at me, removing her hand and fixing me with a steely gaze.

"I had hoped to _stun_ you into listening." She rebuked, folding her arms, "But you never were one to listen to me. Speak to Marcus, then. Perhaps his _books_ will sway you more."

I sighed then, bringing one hand up to scratch the back of my head, the mess of violet-red curls tangling under my fingers.

"Oh, don't _sulk_. You know I do listen to you, Izunia. I merely have a terrible habit of avoiding sound advice." I tried to lighten her heart, but seeing my failure, turned to face her in earnest. "Izunia...please. If there is a way for me to fight the Starscourge, to _truly_ impact it, then I must. It is my duty, as Oracle and as King. The Crystal chose me for this."

"The Crystal didn't know you'd grow up to be a stubborn _asshole_ when it first picked you." The woman retorted, though I could spy the tug of a smile curling her lip, one which I returned.

"Or," I shuffled again, heading out of the tent, "perhaps it did!"

I stood up fully for the first time in _days_ , stretching enough to hear my spine pop and crack in various places. Letting out a breath, I scanned the campsite for any sign of Marcus. A trial of discarded books, scrolls, and the increasing sound of _muttering_ under his breath brought me to him. The raven-haired man was nestled in a tiny fort made of tomes, and for a moment, I wanted to ask him where in the blazes he'd gotten them all from.

"Bit of light bedtime reading?" I asked, settling myself down next to him and idly picking up one of the books. My advisor jumped a little, apparently startled by the intrusion and by my appearance.

"Oh! ...I mean...glad to see you are up and about, Your Majesty." He quickly collected himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a display of his usual anxious habit. I turned a slothful gaze to him, and a loping smirk.

"Somewhat. Izunia tells me I've caused you a great deal of distress. What _are_ you reading?"

My advisor gestured to the books around him, though, upon seeing little understanding on my face, continued:

"Anything and everything on the Starscourge, on daemons. Nothing to suggest they come from humans, _nothing_."

"And yet, we have seen it with our own eyes."

"Indeed." Marcus set the book he had been pouring over aside, and turned to face me with concern. "Which is a whole matter in of itself to worry about. Are we the first to discover this? Do the Astrals themselves have no clue of this truth?"

"I find that hard to believe." I said, placing the book I'd picked up aside as well, "Ifrit created the Starscourge, and I find it difficult to imagine the others of the Six would not be aware of its workings. Whether they did not know, or did and did not tell us, it is a grave oversight on their behalf. One I intend to confront them about in due time. But the more pressing matter is—"

"—you mustn't continue with this."

His interruption, so out of character and bold, struck me silent for a moment. Indeed, Marcus seemed to have alarmed himself, for he turned away before continuing. "You mustn't. Healing the afflicted, yes, but what you did that day...the daemon wasn't _banished_. I've seen you banish the darkness from the afflicted a hundred times over, it burns away, recoils from the light magic in your hand. Like ashes on the breeze, it doesn't go anywhere _near_ you. But when you tried to heal Laeta...the darkness went straight for you. It-it almost seemed to **attack** you. It embedded into your skin...Your Majesty...I...I think it's still there. I don't think you healed Laeta...I think you merely transferred the daemon from her to yourself."

I cocked my head to the side, evidently less concerned by this theory than Marcus was. More fool I, in hindsight.

"I seem to be coping with it much better though. Would it have been better to leave the daemon with her, have her trapped in a monstrous form and mindlessly killing, or return her to her senses, her _life_ , and become an unaffected host myself in turn? It seems safer to house it within myself, in that case, wouldn't you agree?"

Marcus' brow furrowed, and I could see the thousands of theories and thoughts snapping through his mind, each analyzed and disregarded in the blink of an eye.

"You may not have transformed into a daemon yet," He noted, "But we have no assurance that you _won't_."


	5. To Tenebrae

**AN: Warning for this chapter, as there is an allusion to suicide. I have upped the rating of the fic just to be safe. Part of this fic was written over on my RP blog, but fit so well I simply had to use it!**

* * *

It was a few days later before we were ready to head on to Tenebrae once more, though the delay was not at my behest. Marcus and Izunia all but _tied_ me down and demanded I rest, my pleas to the contrary falling on deaf ears.

The days and nights that followed my absorption of the daemon had been, admittedly, deeply unpleasant. Some days, I found my strength returning, and on others, the daemon inside did not seem to quell under the harsh light of the Oracle.

A thousand questions stirred in my mind in these episodes of fretful half-doze; did the gods know I had had the ability to absorb these daemons from another human, to save them so completely? If they did not, was I to commune with them?

How much was being held from me?

The aftermath had, however, taken its toll far more steeply than merely healing an afflicted. I could _feel_ the darkness of the daemon within me, twisting in my veins and fighting against the light. As was at the time, there was far more light in my being than one single daemon could stand, and it was losing the fight. And yet, the strain was enough to burn a fever across my brow and pull delusions and confusion across my vision, nightmares of fire and darkness, of a crystal that warped and deformed from a beautiful glittering light to a terrifying maw of sharp teeth...and a man that stood before it, eyes pouring with obsidian bile...

Eventually, I found the strength to start rising on a morning, begin helping with smaller tasks (though I did have to convince Marcus of this to the point of begging). It was one such morning, when the fits of fever had ebbed away to few and far between, that Marcus alerted me to Izunia's absence.

"Izunia will escort Tristitia and Laeta home, and we set off when she returns." Marcus had assured me, before adding, "It isn't safe for them to remain with us."

The thought was a curious one, as I would have assumed at the time there would be no safe escort than the Kingsguard and the Oracle against the daemons that surrounded us in the night. Consequentially, my brow creased in confusion and I tilted my head a little in question.

"Why is that?"

Marcus looked a little disgruntled then, bristling a little before sighing through flared nostrils and looking away.

"...Word has already reached Tenebrae."

As much as I can admit I likely drove Marcus to despair at the best of times, his manner of speech was enough to drive _me_ to madness. He had a habit of addressing precisely nothing more nor less than what you asked of him. Rolling my eyes, I coaxed the rest of the tale from him.

"—And _therefore_ —?"

Emerald eyes snapped back to meet my own, as evidently, I should have reached some conclusion of this on my own. Perhaps I ought to have, but you must sympathise, dear reader; I had had a very _trying_ few days.

"People are terrified. _Desperate_. And now, they know our king and Oracle can not only heal those afflicted by the scourge, but also that he can heal _daemons_ back into _people._ "

 _Ah_. Yes, now, the point was becoming all too clear, and I leaned back a little on my hands, exhaling.

"—Ergo, they now know those afflicted by the scourge do not simply die of the disease. They _mutate_ into daemons."

"Precisely." Marcus' clipped tone was drenched in concern himself, "We've essentially put a _timer_ on those who are afflicted with this plague, a panic on their families to get them to you as soon as possible, and worse, those who _are_ infected are now more terrified than ever. Some have even—"

As his voice faltered, I turned to face him again sharply, frowning. Marcus was holding something from me, something in his mind that he knew would cause me to act rashly.

My glower seemed enough to pry the information from him this time. His shoulders sagged in defeat, and he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two slender fingers.

"—some have...grown _fearful_ that they would not make your audience in time. That they could _afford_ the travel or were too far gone in the scourge to muster the strength to find you. So they...opted to prevent themselves from becoming daemons the only way they cou-"

Marcus hadn't finished his sentence before I was on my feet, gathering my coat and hat and starting to pull my boots on. He didn't seem alarmed by my movements, and his plea for me to stop seemed lackluster at best.

My people, those who _relied_ upon me, were dying. I had cured so many, yet thousands more lived in fear now of becoming daemons, and to hear that some had fallen so far into despair because _I_ had delayed in reaching them. To say it weighed upon my soul was an understatement.

Turning to face my adviser once more, his request that I wait dismissed in silence, I donned my hat and fixed amber eyes upon him.

"Izunia will know to find us in Tenebrae. We leave. _Now_."

* * *

I had intended to spend a week or so in Tenebrae, to help stem the darkness and the rising scourge as best I could. I had not expected to find the one city swathed in light to be so dire in situation, and though worries pulled at my heart for the other cities and towns in my kingdom, each time we made to leave, another crisis would root us in the city once more.

It was many months before we found catalyst enough to leave.

I had spent my days healing every person who came to me afflicted with various levels of scourge, an act that did not weaken me. But, more frequently, we found citizens coming to me to lead me out of the city to a cavern or cliffside by the evening gloom, convinced a certain monster or daemon was a lost loved one, presumed to have died by the scourge.

Each daemon I absorbed brought a family back together, smiles back on faces...and a little more light was unknowingly snuffed from my soul.

I had reached a point where I had lost count of how many daemons I had absorbed. I had taken instead to counting the days I remained in bed as a result. After one such occurrence, I had collapsed in a tangled heap upon my bed, and upon awaking groggily, was informed by Izunia that I had slept for nearly a _week_.

In a panic, I rose.

"A _week_...gods, Izunia...why did you not **wake** me?" I slurred, rubbing my eyes as if this would deter the growing headache building behind them. "Please tell me you haven't turned anyone away?"

I attempted to get to my feet, only for my knees to quake and buckle underneath me. As though expecting it, Izunia caught me with one arm ( _had I truly wasted away enough for that? I found myself wondering blearily_ ) and shoved me back to sit on the bed. Her countenance was cold, but her eyes were simmered with worry that betrayed her.

"Plenty of people have been braying at the doors demanding to see you." She reported to me, nudging me again when I tried feebly to get to my feet once more, "And an _alarming_ number grew **angry** when told the king was _unconscious_ after absorbing the umpteenth daemon. Their _gratitude_ is turning into _expectancy_."

"And so it should be..." I mumbled, having flopped onto my back and cast my gaze up to the ceiling, "I'm their _king_. I promised to save them, and I fear I am doing a poor job of it."

"You've saved _thousands_ of people. People live today that would have perished without you!" Izunia snapped, pointing out of the window as if to emphasize her point, "It may be a pleasant dream, but it is a dream nonetheless if you, or anyone, thinks you can _possible_ save every last person afflicted! Time doesn't work like that, you can't be everywhere at once! Even if it was just the _healing_ , but now you're **absorbing** daemons, the toll it takes, I—" Her rambling, fractured speech came to a halt, and I looked down to see her.

...Tears? Truly? Tears gathered in _Izunia's_ eyes?

I sat up once more, feeling guilt twist at my heart. I had, perhaps, been a little blind to Marcus and Izunia these past few months. I may have been happy to ruin myself to save my people, but I had neglected to consider those who had to watch me break apart before their eyes...

"I'm _sorry_." I truly was, though only in so far as the pain I had caused my Kingsguard. I would not apologise for going so far to save my people, nor the state I had rendered myself as a result. But I never intended that burden to fall upon Izunia to bear too, and for that, my apology was forged for her.

She looked away from me then, presumably to try and hide the tears that gave her away, and folded her arms across her chest.

"Sorry...but you're going to ask me to round up all those who came to see you during the week and show them here, right?"

I smiled at her, weakly, but truthfully. I hoped she wrought some kind of strength from it.

"If you would be a dear."

She seemed apt to ignore me, or rebuke my request, but after a moment's pause, Izunia unfolded her arms and made for the door. Satisfied that she would, at least for now, accept my current course, I made to try and make myself look presentable. There was no sense adding to the rumours already spiraling out of control, of the Starscourge's increased ferocity, of daemons made of men, with tales of a king and Oracle who looked like Death himself had took pity on him and left him at the door for now.

Alas, it seemed the fates were hell-bent on undermining me, for just as Izunia reached the door, an echoing _roar_ flooded my ears so completely as to rend a gasp of pain from my lips. It brought the woman back to me in the blink of an eye, and no doubt no words of mine would now convince her I was up to seeing people today. My lip curled in irritation, though I could just about make out what she was asking me.

"Ardyn? Ardyn, what's wrong?"

I inhaled against the rumbling sound throbbing painfully in my head, one eye winced against it as I looked at Izunia.

"I believe the gods would have words with me..."


End file.
